


Pawladins

by MiserableRu



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Allura as a Cat Lady, Angst, Cat AU, Cats, Fluff, Gen, I'm Sorry, Paladins are cats, ball of fur, everything is fluff, feline trouble, inaccuracy cat's life, literal fluff, not a manual for taking care of cats, okay maybe not really fluff, there's angst here too, though she doesn't realize that, warning: fur inside
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-21 15:13:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13743612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiserableRu/pseuds/MiserableRu
Summary: Maybe she needs a companion, yes, maybe she does.A companion with four legs and way too much fur is a companion nonetheless.So she takes one......then two, then three, then...Well, they've never said she should stop...





	1. Morning Blues

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, hello!
> 
> I've put it on my own tumblr about this AU and if anybody needs explanation, it's basically an AU where all paladins are cats. Literally just cats. They're not catboys/girls so no cute humanoid person with dog ears atop their head. Chapters will not be posted chronologically and is usually a separate story with one another

The day begins with a ring of their doorbell and the scratch-scratch of claws against mahogany wooden door of her bedroom. Her eyes flutter open, squinting slightly at the intense morning sun‘s ray peering through her translucent curtain over the big window plastered on the wall across of her bed. She rises, pulling knots off of her back and stretches her aching limbs; a thoughtless yawn passes her lips. 

“Lady Allura, a few guests by the door are requesting your presence,” she doesn’t turn her head, preferring to stare at the blinding light filtered through the window, “…shall I welcome them to the common room?” 

“Have they told you what they’re here for?” she asks, her sonorous tone croaking slightly, having just getting pulled from slumber. A contemplative hum replies her, followed by, “I might not know what they are here for, but I do hear familiar sounds, which have been resonating across the mansion” 

Allura cards her fingers through her silver hair, tying them with grace, which can only come from experience, “Have you fed them?” she slips out of her cover, pulling her blanket up to meet her fluffed pillow. 

As an appropriate answer, her bedroom door clicks open and two blurs of shadow rush in, splitting in the middle with one leaping up on her cabinet and the other, trotting nimbly to her feet. 

A cough couldn’t distract her from eyeing them both, “I’ve fed them, of course, and they seem eager to find you” the one by her feet nuzzles his bountiful fur against her calves. Flicking her gaze upward, she finds the other on top of her pale white cabinet, glaring at her from vantage point – ready to pounce at moment notice.

“Let the guests in,” she fetches a brush by her bedside –right between her beautifully carved jewel box and assortment of knick-knacks- before she starts to pad toward the door, passing her butler, “…after morning routine, I’ll attend to them” a heavyweight settles on her shoulder when she passes the door and she praises herself for merely flinching at the additional weight.

Her butler follows her out of the bedroom and with a soft, “I’m on it” he walks away, disappears at the bend in her current hallway. A low meow turns her attention downward where her Siberian –black and white fur and all- is looking up at her with inquisitive eyes. By her ears, the mixed breed starts to shift into his most comfortable stance, miraculously sitting on the narrow flat plane her shoulder can offer. 

“Run along now, I’ll be okay” she whispers to the furball on her shoulder. He stiffens, sniffs her cheek once before leaping down to land right beside her Siberian. The bigger feline bops his nose against the other and meows as if to reassure him. They stare up at her for the last time before strolling off to deal with their own morning. “Play nice with the guest if you meet them” she calls after them, hearing the bigger of the two meow as an answer.

She turns a right and slips into her bathroom. The mirror over the sink gifts her with her morning face reflection and she sighs at her messy curls. Raising the brush, she unties her hair and combs the knots. After her hair is deemed acceptable, she reties them and plucks a toothbrush out from its glass.

Morning routine; monotone as it is, she couldn’t have the guest sees her like this.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Common room – as her butler, Coran, had said where he’d take the guests to – is exactly as it said. Common piece of furniture, common indoor setting, everything ordinary that the world wouldn’t view as oddity is arranged there in such a way that separated the whole room from her whole house. If her father had built the house from the ground, designed where everything goes and how it would look like as a whole, then he let someone else –with less eccentric mind- to construct the common room.

_“I’m proud of how my mind works, dear Allura,” her father had said, “…but I couldn’t let the world see everything. Humans are surprisingly hostile toward things they don’t find familiar and for them, my mind is alien; an abstract of words and mazes of fantasy. So I let them see what they want, not what they should and the world wouldn’t have anything against me, against us!”_

They are seated on the ordinary cream couch _someone_ had ordered to be there, right by the ordinary coffee table. A carry cage lies beside them, occasionally moving as if to remind everyone with sight that something is indeed there. Minutes later, a falsetto meow pierces the air, followed by another, seconds later.

Allura decides to study the humans first, knowing that whatever inside that cage would come later. They are a young couple, freshly wed, she suspects from the nervous fiddle on the woman’s fingers against the ring coiled around her ring finger. She spots a matching ring on the man’s finger so her assumption rises. Young bride and groom with a new pet they couldn’t handle, she speculates and her gaze falls to the cage.

“I…we’re sorry to interrupt you in the morning” the man begins, his gaze fixates on her and Allura shakes her head to convey that it’s okay. He clears his throat, “We heard that you…you’re taking stray cats and we thought that maybe…just maybe” his gaze flicks toward the cage by his wife’s side. Another meow reverberates through the air and he winces, “We bought him from a professional breeder. He said that he’s a beautiful and friendly cat, affectionate and soft. His mother has certificate, won lots of competition so her son should be magnificent as well” 

Nodding silently, she lets the man continues, “We immediately agree, of course, we wanted to have a perfect companion for…for my pregnant wife” his wife nods to second his statement, briefly patting her yet to be showed belly. Another meow and Allura can visibly see why they had stopped loving him; humans don’t want the truth, they only want what they want. “Would…you like to see him?” the woman finally speaks, settles her fingers on the cage’s lock. 

_Would you like to see why we don’t want him anymore?_ are the unspoken words.

Allura nods.

When the cage’s door open with a click, she sees beauty instead of mistakes.

Bright ocean blue eyes, curious slate colored nose twitching at the air, and lovely, lovely bluish grey fur. His points are colored in muted dark grey, emphasizing those brilliant aquamarines and her breath hitches when he slithers out in fluid motion, sashaying toward his owner’s lap and meows for attention. He looks up, blinking expectantly at the man who tries his best to smile awkwardly back before placing his hand on top of his head, giving the most uncomfortable pat Allura has ever seen in her life.

The feline soaks up on his attention, however, purring loudly despite how _wrong_ it looks and how _unpleasant_ that must be. He craves touch, she notices, to the point that anything -- any skin on fur contact he can get, he would cherish to high heaven. His owner stops, letting the Siamese nuzzles his fingers twice before encouraging him to step off of his lap. 

“Want to try and hold him?” the man offers.

They push him gently though forcefully. Eager to obey, he stumbles, trips with his awkwardly long limbs to reach her lap. He rubs his cheeks against her stomach, purrs when she places her palm against his chest and strokes the fur there. 

“I know this is too much to ask, lady Allura,” they say nervously, sweating when he rolls on his back, relaxed and content, “…but please…please take him away from us, we have no need of a loud pet who doesn’t know when to close their mouth” his ears perk up, though the bright innocent blue seemingly clueless of the insult being thrown his way.

She lets her palm rests on his fur, thumb absentmindedly stroking the underside of his chin. Another purr rumbles his chest and she would pay to hear that for the rest of her life, “What is his name?” she asks, gaze not leaving the ball of grey fur on her thighs. The couple share a look before the wife opens her mouth, “Lance,” she says quickly as if it would get this exchange quicker, to relieve them of their responsibility given to them the moment they pay bucks for this beauty, “…his name is Lance, the…uh, the owner of his mother named him”

There’s a pause as she considers the name. They didn’t give him a new name, didn’t even check how loud and chatty a Siamese could be before they took him from his loving mother. They shouldn’t have taken him in the first place if they’re not ready. She pities the unborn child if this is how the couple would treat their family.

_Show the world what they want, not what they should._

Signaling for Coran, she plasters a polite smile on her face when she turns to address them, “I can take him, of course, and since he’s…certified, I assume you would want some…” Coran arrives just in time, to drop a checkbook on her open palm, “…compensation?” the man flushes crimson at that and the woman makes a soft squeal of delight. 

Allura doesn’t like to flaunt her fortune, really, especially when it feels like she’s buying a kitten, “How much?” she says, knowing they have a number ready. 

Because, why would they visit _her_ instead of throwing their pet up for adoption in animal shelter?

They give her a number –with too many zeroes in the back, she’s sure but doesn’t bat her eyelashes at that- and she writes on the check. Methodically, she rips the check and hands it toward the young couple. Their eyes widen excitedly and without regret excuses themselves. Not even a goodbye slips out of their lips as they walk out of her house, business done, money in hands. 

Her new Siamese stares at their retreating back for a few processing seconds, then he bolts after his previous owner, meowing as loud as he can, demanding them to pick him up, to love him and take him home. She lets him, lets the couple closes the door on his face, lets his claws scratch at the birch white wooden door exasperatedly. His high-pitched meow would invite the others soon, yet Allura stalls her hands. 

Lance needs to understand that this is his new home.

_Besides, they don’t deserve him._

When his cry is getting louder, a blur rushes past her and tackles Lance to the floor. A loud whine erupts from the Siamese as he tries to fight whoever has pinned him to the ground. Her mixed breed is hissing at him, claws out and eyes glowing in their mismatched color. 

Ah, yes, the mixed breed hates loud voices. 

Before she could separate the two cats, her Siberian comes trotting into the picture, gently, carefully, as if knowing that he’s going to breach someone’s privacy. He tiptoes his way, watching for any kind of reaction. Her mixed breed has slowly retracted his claws and loosens his grip since the Siamese has stopped wailing. Cautiously, he gives Lance a sniff –scrunching his nose before huffing, seeming to find the smell as okay- before stepping away, allowing the bigger cat to step in. 

Lance shrinks back on himself, his limbs are tense, coiled like a spring. He seems unsure of them, fighting between fleeing and standing his ground. Then gently, lightly, the Siberian presses his nose against the Siamese’s and purrs.

This is not the most ideal of introduction between two cats –they shouldn’t even meet with one another right now- but she lets him. Shiro has his own way to reassure young kittens and comforts them – she has no right to judge when it’s the Siberian who tended to the hissing mixed breed when he’s uncomfortable in his new home. Lance blinks owlishly at this, though he relishes on the interaction and purrs back, pleased and comforted. 

When Shiro pulls away, Lance chases after him, meowing quizzically at his newfound comfort. The Siberian approaches her mixed breed instead, bopping their nose together again before mewing an order toward the less than friendly cat. At first, the mixed breed –Keith, her mind reminds- scoffs it off and the bigger cat glares at him as if he’s disappointed. 

Then Keith is right by Lance, brushing their nose together briefly before glancing at Shiro with a look, which practically says, ‘There, are you happy?’

Lance decides right then and there is the perfect time to meow his acceptance at the mixed breed’s ear.

For ten minutes, her house is filled with yowls and meows and hisses.


	2. Sky so Dark that You Can't See

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pelted by the rain, its fur is matted to its head, tails sagging behind him. Between the blade of grass beneath him, dulled by the lack of light from the storm cloud and his white belly, a crimson pool would stand out even more. She swallows hard - the loud pitter-patter of rain against her white coat is the only voice she could register in her mind. The soft whine, the stuttering whimper -- she tries not to think of that, try not to hear them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once a week that is...
> 
> March is in the corner though and after the fest, I might be able to finish more

When her butler said that she needs a rest and fast, she hadn’t expected something as ordinary as strolling in her father’s garden. It’s beautiful, of course, a masterpiece of its own right. People might find the late sir Alfor to be bizarre, but anyone would pay ticket to enter his intricate garden located at the back of his house. 

Hedges trimmed to various shapes are scattered across the garden in a pattern only known to the maker himself. Oriental flowers bloomed in rows and rows of bushes, their scent a class of their own, enticing exotic insects and animals alike. Stepping-stones made of white granite decorated the path between the trees and across the several ponds where fishes from all over the world are kept and thrived. His father had made sure each pond fits its resident fish –“Saltwater, clear water, warm and freezing to the touch, dear Allura”- and decorated it just the way it should look in its natural environment –“Corals, Coran, I want real corals, no, no, no need to dive into the ocean to pick some! We can farm a few with the right tools”.

Various types of trees are planted in areas, transforming the garden’s face as season changes along the year. Spring trees blossoms in spring and so forth. Even in winter, when everything is blanketed in the soft snow; the magnolias and red maples splash color to the bland white, ensuring that the garden looks as lively as it does in every other season. Their gardeners are experts from all over the world, trusted to keep the whole garden alive.

It’s a beauty out of this world and people admitted that however crazy Alfor might sound, his work is an art in its purest form.

Allura couldn’t help the small smile on her lips as she recalled strolling across the garden with her mother and father. They used to spread a woven mat right in the middle where everything bloomed at that time and ate her mother’s delicious cooking. Everything seemed alright, the world smiled upon them – a perfect if somewhat odd family. 

Then—

She shook her head, refusing to go down that lane anymore. Reminiscing should be done with beautiful memories - painful ones would only bring tears to her eyes and sorrow to her heart. Taking a comfortable seat on the grass by the seawater pond, she took a deep breath and tried to clear her head. There was no need for her to think of what to write next for this moment. Coran would reject every visit from her editor and she would get her much needed time alone.

Her nose twitched and she sighed exasperatedly.

“Rain…” she muttered, rubbing her nose in disdain at that distasteful soil smell, “…and after Coran begged me to take a rest here too…” she felt bad for Coran. The butler had forcibly requested her to take a day off and just relax in the garden. He had been doing that every hour of every day of the last week and she had finally agreed after hitting her twentieth writing block. 

And that day had to be raining.

There’s a gazebo in the garden where she could shelter from the rain though and drinking a warm cup of tea in there seemed quite soothing. She did not want Coran to come over hastily with a pot of tea on one hand and an umbrella on the other – she knows that the butler is more than capable to balance a pot of tea and china glasses with one hand, but she feels bad to force him out of the house when he had duties to attend to.

So she stood, strode across the shrubberies into the white gazebo between the rose bushes. 

The first trickle of rain plops on her nose when she stepped into the first step of the stairs leading to her shelter. She jumped the rest of steps and quickly took a seat as comfortable as she could. It didn’t take long before the drizzle turned into a full rain then a brewing storm. Before the wind could reach her, she pulled a thin string of rope, leading to the gazebo’s pane. 

Her father installed the clear glasses out of the reason that it looked beautiful.

Her mother said it was useful.

She said that it’s both; the view it allowed her to see through is charming and she could see it without getting drenched.

Within minutes, it had become a genuine storm and her sigh was deeper. Essentially, she wasn’t trapped since this is still her house. Yet she couldn’t exactly have a nice walk across the acres of her father’s garden without any kind of protection from the rain. She eyed her private phone, expecting Coran to call her. There’s nothing however, the screen stayed dark as the sky and a touch to its surface told her that no one had tried to get ahold of her over the past few hours. 

She didn’t mind though – it’s Coran’s guarantee that nobody would disturb her today.

Her eyes swivel across the garden, observing the drops of rain hitting the grass and slipping through tree branches. It was quite dark, the sun had disappeared between the gray cloud and the garden’s lamps hadn’t been turned on just yet. She stayed silent, contemplating the sky’s tears as her thought went back to her previous daydream. To her mother’s face beneath the smothering rain as—

“Meow…”

She blinked –noticed the beginning of a tear from her right eye and ignored it- and immediately snapped to attention. There were animals in this garden; a wildcat isn’t uncommon. But that cry is so weak and muted – she shouldn’t have heard that unless it was so close. She checked the gazebo first, looking down beneath the benches and glaring up at the beam supporting the roof. When she found nothing, she turned to the world around her. She squinted, trying to focus on anything that wasn’t there, anything that she hadn’t seen before she got into the gazebo.

And she spotted it.

Before she could think rationally, she had taken off from the dry safety the gazebo offer and into the cruel and cold drench of a wild spring storm. She took off her jacket and stretched it above her head – a somewhat useless temporary cover from the rain. Her steps slowed when she reached the figure lying limp on the grass. It’s not there previously and her breath hitched to think that it might have been there before the rain became a storm, but she didn’t notice it since it didn’t make a sound.

Pelted by the rain, its fur is matted to its head, tails sagging behind him. Between the blade of grass beneath him, dulled by the lack of light from the storm cloud and his white belly, a crimson pool would stand out even more. She swallows hard - the loud pitter-patter of rain against her white coat is the only voice she could register in her mind. The soft whine, the stuttering whimper -- she tries not to think of that, try not to hear them. 

_If you don’t acknowledge it, it wouldn’t be real_

“Hush hush now” she coos, letting her coat hover over it before offering her fingers toward the feline, who in return sniffs at them cautiously. Its ears twitch and warmth touches her fingertips as it tries to press its spotted nose against her. It’s alive she focuses on that, ignoring everything else –there’s no blood if she doesn’t see, doesn’t feel – she scratches its chin, hearing the (weak) purr it emits.

“Okay, okay…” she breathed in and out, repeated it as calmly as she could, “…I’m going to pick you up…please…don’t struggle, okay?” 

There was no answer from the ball of drenched fur, but she recognized the glint of resignation in its eyes. She inhaled and scooped him with her coat. Whispering reassurance she bolted back to the gazebo, trying to focus her gaze toward the goal instead of how contrasting the red is in her white coat.

_If you don’t see it, it’s not true, Allura, her mother said as she hid the stained handkerchief behind her back and smiled a bloody smile._

_She didn’t tell her mother of the red on her lips._

“Coran…” she wheezed to the phone, “…Coran, could you send servants to fetch me in the gazebo near the rose bushes? Two if you could, please, and, oh, no, I’m not in trouble, it’s just…I’ll tell you later, after you call for a vet”

…………………………………………………………………………………………

“I’m afraid that right foreleg needs to be amputated…”

The tap-tap sound he made with his pen was annoying, but Allura didn’t point that out. Instead, she stared at the sleeping cat grimly, knowing that losing a limb for a creature as agile as him –it’s a he, that’s what the vet declared after a brief examination- is like a death sentence. She let her hand pause before resting it gently on the cat’s long fur, “What happened to you?” she asked in whisper.

“Infection from open wound, which hadn’t been treated correctly,” another tap-tap, thoughtful, but noisy, “…judging by how…bad it looks now, I’d say it had been months since he received the wound”

She gritted her teeth, wincing at the verdict, “Can’t you…treat it without doing such barbaric thing?” she insisted, gripping tighter on the cat’s skin. The vet shook his head, stopped the tap-tap and met her eyes, “The only thing that cat would do with that leg is to drag it around with him like a useless luggage” he said coldly. 

_But what if no one else sees it?_

“He has a collar, though I suspect that his previous owner might have been the cause of his grave injury,” the pen moved against the paper, scratching against the rough surface, “…would you give it up for adoption or would you take him in for yourself?”

“Yes!” she answered, “…let me take custody for a while…until he healed up…” she trailed off, hesitation started to gnaw on her chest. The vet shrugged, “Alright, I’m going to name you as his temporary caretaker. Here’s the bill and you’re free to go” he gave her a piece of paper.

…………………………………………………………………………………………

“What are you going to name him, Lady Allura?”

Her fingers stopped as she turned to meet her butler’s inquisitive gaze, “What? The cat? It’s just temporary, Coran, until someone else could give him a good home” she brushed him off, attention back to the dim screen. He coughed, “I don’t think there would be another good enough home for him than here and you, my lady, knows that as well…” 

“Which part of temporary are you going to understand? A pet is the last thing I need with my job in a block like this!” she argued.

A smile played on the butler’s lips; curious and knowing, “On the contrary, a pet especially the little one you’ve saved, might be the one thing you need to overcome your fear”

Allura rolled her eyes, “Fear? What kind of fear are you talking about now? Because I don’t remember having any to be noted so obviously” she lashed back, vicious and defensive. That was in itself a sign that what he pointed out was true – that she had fear though she didn’t want to acknowledge its existence. Coran knew that, though he zipped his mouth shut, throwing her a shrewd smile instead.

_The blood on her mother’s lips wasn’t real._

_We need to amputate his right foreleg._

_The infection is real._

_Are you scared of what you can see, my dear?_

_If you don’t see, it’s not real…_

_But you see my garden, didn’t you, Allura? You see the beautiful masterpiece I created. You saw your mother’s lovely face as she smiled and you saw my handsome mug every time we had a family moment together. If you don’t see my garden, it doesn’t exist, so do the memories lying within it._

_Would you prefer to close your eyes upon the truth? Or would you be brave and open them?_

“Shiro…” she whispered eventually after Coran left her study. She smiled to herself, “Shiro for his white underbelly fur, which I can see clearly and Shiro for the blank canvas where everything can be seen written on…” 

…………………………………….………………………………………………………

A few days passed in a blink of an eye. Her Siberian, christened with the name Shiro just a few days ago, was curling on her lap, snoring softly as he nuzzled into her stomach. She eyed him fondly, biting her lip nervously when she caught sight of the thin metal shaped leg where his right foreleg should be. 

It’s true, she can see that – his leg was truly gone. 

But that didn’t mean Shiro stopped moving, no, the big cat just moved on, struggling with his new artificial limb at first, but grew more comfortable as he practiced. He leaped around and ran across the garden without inhibition, both natural and manmade limbs working in tandem to propel him forward. His weakness could be seen very clearly, but Shiro did not falter in his first step.

She placed her fingers back to her keyboard. This was the first draft, the first character she would write: a person with blemish so obvious, it obscured him of the truth behind its cause. At first, he would refuse to see it, but in time… 

Shiro purred.

An eager smile tugged at her lips as she continued on, ideas blooming into the pages she wrote.


	3. Pile of Fur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I…I apologize, Lady Allura, but I just left it for a few ticks…” Coran grimaces, a genuine regret tugging at the line of his frown, “…and when I came back…they’re already like this”
> 
> She waves a dismissive hand, fumbling with the camera, “No, no, this is fine! Absolutely fine! Fantastic, even!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff for the soul

Soft padded footsteps totter uneasily across the carpeted floor. Dim afternoon sun filtered through the thin curtain lighting the small feline’s way through the hallway. He cautiously makes way, ears flicking back and forth to catch even the slightest noise. A wary pair of mismatched eyes glances up and he growls anxiously at the absence of anything he can climb onto.

Right at the end of the hall, a heap of fabric is bundled up, red and menacing, sprawled across the floor like it’s been abandoned. His curious mind pushes him there, but his instinct screams at him to get away. It’s foreign, it’s out of place, and he just wants it gone. Not to mention that this hallway is far too open to any kind of ambush.

Too exposed needs somewhere obscured where he can hide…

They could find him if he’s out in the open like this.

One second he’s crouched low, padding as carefully as he could. 

The next, he jumps almost three feet up, yowling in an embarrassingly high-pitched noise.

He whips his head toward the source and growls when a familiar pair of ears pops out beneath the heap of fabric. Bright ocean blue eyes peer from beneath those ears before he catches sight of a smirk on that dark brown patch of fur. 

Out of everything in the whole entire world, which could startle him with, the smug cat had chosen a loud, ambiguous purr.

In one single leap, he pounces.

They tangle between the fabric, him with his claws out and the stupid cat with his desperate attempt to push him off. He keeps pressing on though, not willing to give up this fight. His foe might be heavier, but he’s stronger and faster, there’s no way he would be defeated by his slightly bigger foe. 

Almost abruptly, his foe stops struggling and slumps. His eyes are closed and his breath comes out in puffs. Confused, he tries poking the small nose, earning a sneeze out of the other. Offended, the other lets out a disgruntled meow before settling as comfortably as he could with him on top. 

Okay…?

What is this guy doing?

An eye flutters open before it closes and a rumble rolls across the feline beneath him. Another inviting meow and he finds himself being pushed forward to plop on the soft bluish white fur. He almost scrambles up because he does not need a cuddle right now, thank you, but the Siamese insists, purring when he stops squirming. Blinking, he retracts his claws, setting it down over the other’s shoulder to the crimson fabric beneath.

Oh…

OH!

It’s so soft and smooth and silky and…

A beginning of a purr shakes his throat and he sighs happily as he runs his soft pad across the material. The other calls his name and nuzzles his cheek, purring even louder when he returns his call. For one, he feels safe here, cuddled with his…acquaintance, between this silky heaven as his eyes slowly droop. 

Sleep is calling him and he does not feel the need to ignore its beckon.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

As usual, they are patrolling across the house, sniffing everywhere for a clue that the smaller feline does not want to share what for. The big ragdoll doesn’t exactly care though, he loves helping and the small feline is grateful enough to reward him with any cuddles he wants. 

They are passing through the dining area –where food is, he remarks- halfway through the route today. Above him, his companion is perched, her head swivels as she absorbs her surrounding with keen eyes. Her weight above him is almost like a reassurance and reminder all at once. Reassurance that this is his home now, not the cramped cage he had the privilege to occupy back in the animal shelter. A reminder that it is his daily duty now to keep an eye on the overly eager curious munchkin.

Shiro trusted him with this so of course, he wouldn’t disappoint the Siberian if he could.

A soft tug behind his ear snaps his focus back on the weight on his back, the munchkin is meowing at him. He replies back, quizzical, and the small feline points at what they are going to face up ahead. Right across the long hallway connecting the dining hall with the living room –where this fun chairs with plush are clustered into- he spies a mountain of red.

His companion leaps down from her perch to approach it curiously, her tails flicking behind her to make that adorable question mark. He follows right behind her, closely so he could reach her if something dangerous would appear from the bright menace. The munchkin crawls toward it, tilting her head left and right before poking it with her retracted claw. She blinks when her paw connects, then she stares at the pad of her paws and slaps the fabric. This, apparently causes a purr to slip out of her mouth.

To his surprise, she eagerly crouches, lifting her behind up to prepare for a jump. Before she could act so recklessly though, he nudges her in panic, shaking his head frantically when she looks at him as if he had stolen all her furs. Meowing, she urges him to touch the red fabric, hissing when he refuses. With all her might, she headbutts him, insistently pressing against his side to move him. 

Pidge is so adamant that he finally relents and moves, hesitantly to touch the crimson fabric with a shaky paw.

…

Well, he could understand why Pidge wants to pounce the fabric. It’s as soft as his fur and also smooth that his paw slides off of it effortlessly. And whoa, it’s addictive to run through the sleek surface with his paws. There’s the knowing meow from Pidge and he sheepishly replies her with a ‘go ahead’.

Without further ado, the munchkin vaults over-

-and lands with three loud yowls.

He panics, climbs over the soft fabric and ends up pushing the higher edge down with him to reveal three cats tangled up with one another. His best cuddle buddy is there, at the bottom of the pile, groaning and moaning about the weight and his poor, poor slim body getting crushed. Pidge is at the top, clawing at –to his surprise- their residence grumpy cat who’s now busy fending the munchkin off of him. 

They eventually stop, giving in to the miracle that is the silky soft goodness all around them. Pidge rolls off of the mixed breed to feel the material around her, purring before she drags her body to touch the Siamese. In return, Lance lets his paw touch the munchkin’s forehead before settling his face into the crook of her neck. Keith meows in protest at the sudden shift in position, but makes do with what he can and is satiated by using the soft white belly of the Siamese.

Ouch…

Now he feels left out…

The three cats only have a cry as their warning before the twenty pounds Ragdoll tackles them.

……………………………………………………………………………………………..

These kits…really…

Of all the times they have to disappear, they have to do so when Coran is making the big house cleaning. He huffs when the ginger-haired man returns from the storage at the far back of the house, carrying a big bag of cleaning supplies and tools. That bag looks far too big for Coran, but surprisingly, the human manages to carry it without fainting in exhaustion.

Back to the kits…

The other had disappeared after mid-noon, when the sun is right above their head, sending merciless heat wave above them. He’d passed by Hunk and Pidge, who’s doing patrol and reminded them not to stroll outside for too long. Lance was spotted near the kitchen, searching for his water bowl for his parched throat and happily dug in when he found it. He hadn’t seen Keith, but knowing him, he’d be out in the open, chasing birds and climbing trees before finding his way back in if he’s feeling too hot. 

Then he couldn’t find them anymore. 

Lance couldn’t stay in one spot for far too long so it’s not odd to see that the kitchen is devoid of any feline. What’s odd is both Pidge and Hunk is nowhere to be seen when they should be finishing up by now. A glance from the kitchen’s backdoor shows him that no one is out too, so Keith must’ve slipped in through the kitchen cat’s door or sneaking into the wide open garden at the back. It’s doubtful that he does the latter though, because the last time he did so, Shiro, himself had reprimanded him after he came back through the kitchen door, leaving muddy pawprints and dry leaves in the kitchen. Allura had been angry enough that their human had Keith locked for a day to reflect on his action. 

After that, Keith would always come to him and asks if he would like to join and watch him out in the garden. Other times, he would ask Lance, whom he trusted would be able to keep Keith in the clean part of the garden most of the times. 

So Keith must be inside because Lance hates being out under the summer sun for far too long. 

(My fur would feel betrayed if I allowed them to bake under that disgusting ball of fire, Shiro)

Uneasily, he makes way to the next corridor – the long hallway with big windows – and quickly catches mixed smell of cats from different breeds all gathered into one space. The hallway is not quite wide, just really long and brightly lit, but their scent shows him that they are truly here. 

That’s how he spots the red fabric at the end of the hallway – followed by choruses of purr and contented mewl. 

Blinking, he stalks the heap, tip-toeing as carefully and as silent as his metal limb would allow him. It’s the fabric which always hung over the window, he notes, one that Allura had warned them not to climb over and rip. “Don’t climb the curtain!” their human had scolded before Keith could try his climbing skill and claw strength. 

To his horror, every single kit he’s looking for is there, on top of said fabric.

Hunk makes the outer pile, curling into half moon like a fence to guard them. His muzzle is settled over Lance’s head and his tail curls over Pidge’s hind legs. The small munchkin has slotted herself between Keith and Hunk, her head is pillowed by Hunk’s stomach as she lies sideways, her back pressed against Keith’s. Back to back with Pidge, Keith somehow has managed to lie sprawled over half of Lance’s long body, nuzzling right beneath the Siamese chin and looking as comfortable as he could. Lance is laying belly up as Keith’s pillow. His long tail is tickling Pidge’s side and his purr of contentment constantly rumbles the four of them, sending comfort and warmth across the pile.

Of course, Shiro couldn’t, _would never_ be able to be mad at them when they are just being little kittens. Seeking companion isn’t wrong – in fact, he would like to encourage them to pile up more if they could. Cats might be aloof, but some of them –him included- needed the reassurance that they have somewhere they can come back to. Somewhere they can rest their paws and just…just be in someone else’s presence. 

Without hesitation, he enters the nest, tilting his head to ask for permission when Lance peers at him with bleary eyes. The Siamese nods at him before closing his ocean orbs back, allowing Shiro to settle into their pile however he wants. So he settles right to close the circle Hunk has started. His head right below to touch Hunk’s tail and his side to pillow both Keith and Pidge’s hind legs. Lance sneezes when his tail swipes over the other’s nose. A kick to his lower stomach reminds him that Keith is disturbed by that notion. Carefully, he curls it just so it nudges the Siamese cheek – a smidge touch to reassure himself that he’s with everyone else in the cat pile.

One last satisfied purr escapes his mouth before he closes his eyes -- pleased.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

No cats welcome her when she strolls into her house with their respective gifts on tow.

Not even a polite meow from Shiro.

Or a purr from attention-seeker Lance.

Neither a nuzzle from cuddle hunter Hunk.

Nor a Keith jumping toward her shoulder from anywhere high in the room.

Even a Pidge peeking from the next room with inquisitive yellow eyes.

None.

She, of course, tries to call Coran, who seems perplexed that she has come home sooner than he had expected. “Why I haven’t even finished with my monthly big cleaning duty!” he says, twiddling his thumbs – a sign of distress. Raising a curious eyebrow at this, she asks what has worried him.

“Well…” the butler trails off, averting his gaze somewhere not hers, “…I suppose you should just see it for yourself…”

He leads her to the living room, through the dining room toward the kitchen. Her eyes are quick to spot them and before he could explain or point out, she has taken off to approach the pile of furs and fabrics as soundlessly as she could. Her butler looks absolutely conflicted by the sight while she rummages through her purse to retrieve the small camera she always brings with her to capture ideas.

“I…I apologize, Lady Allura, but I just left it for a few ticks…” Coran grimaces, a genuine regret tugging at the line of his frown, “…and when I came back…they’re already like this”

She waves a dismissive hand, fumbling with the camera, “No, no, this is fine! Absolutely fine! Fantastic, even!” 

Right in front of her, the most precious picture lies for the taking.

Gentle Hunk as the wall behind them, keeping them in place while offering each one a place to lean on. 

Smart little Pidge, taking that small space, knowing exactly how tiny she is and uses it to gain the softest and most comfortable crook between Hunk and Keith and Shiro while accepting Lance’s small touch happily.

Stubborn Keith, forcing his way to gain spot by sprawling across Lance and despite the small frown on his face, he must be feeling as cozy as he looks.

Affectionate Lance has to touch everyone with every inch of his body so Keith’s existence is a pleasant one instead of suffocating, while for the other, he gives them a part of him they can feel as meager as it looks.

Protective Shiro as their fence, the guard at the front to close what Hunk makes and in return, the other keeps him grounded, leans on him and comforts him, reminds him that they are there for him.

Her mind bursts with thousands of ideas to work with. Coran was right, they are a medicine for her block and she would love to get started with her writing as soon as she possibly can before this perfect picture in her mind could disappear.

Before that though, she would snap a few pictures and keep it close to her heart.


	4. It's a Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It…bit me…?” she said in disbelief.
> 
> The cat she referred to huff and turned tail, implying that she should leave before he changed his mind. Shiro was staring at the wild cat’s retreating back though, deliberating some choices inside his head after he’s seen how rude the wildcat was being. After a disapproving meow, Shiro jumped down and without hesitation, followed the mixed breed into the deeper part of the forest. Allura swore she’s seen her cat’s plotting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's not a lot Keith in Keith chapter and I'm pissed because I didn't write a lot of Keith in his chapter...

Shiro is not a fussy cat. He’s quiet, calm and soothing. In general, he looks like he’s satisfied with how his life is right now and decides that it’s best to stick in her good side. Sometimes, however, when Shiro does not notice her presence, he would eye the handmade prosthetic Coran had made for him with distaste. Though other times, he would forget that it’s a prosthetic at all and jumps around like a normal cat. She has taken precaution level whenever Shiro does reckless things with his replaced limb and asked other servants to keep an eye on him whenever they see him playing around. This includes the gardener and gatekeeper.

When someone is visiting her, Shiro would sometimes see to them. You’d know that they’re good if Shiro appears almost instantly, slipping into the common room with a soft, questioning meow directed toward the guest. And boy, she does have a lot of recurring guest. 

Since she’s an author slash freelance writer, a lot of editors from several companies had stepped into the mansion, demanding her to finish her work. From the smug asshole that is Lotor –who demands her to finish yet is lenient enough to never go through his threat of possibly murdering her when his father, the leader asked for her work- to the stiff, but soft inside Kollivan –who’s probably is conspiring with Shiro to get her to work.

Shiro is a welcoming cat, unlike most who would just check on the guest once and scoff at them before turning his pretty feet and walk away arrogantly. If the Siberian finds you…good, he would stay in the common room, nuzzling your hand and settles right beside you as a warm, furry companion. His prosthetic garners pity, but he’d never let the amount of attention and cooing gets to him. 

Overall, she’s lucky, her first pet cat is Shiro.

“You know…ever since you took in this big guy, you’ve been in quite a roll, haven’t you?” 

Of all people in the world, Lotor is the first person to point that out loud verbally. Shiro is seated right beside her feet, fur tickling her ankle. His relationship with Lotor has been…fluctuating – it depends on Lotor’s mood, really. He’d be up and running from the common room if Lotor is especially pushy. But when the young man is calm and controlled, the Siberian would be there, a comforting presence by her feet.

Oh, right, Lotor is asking her a question…

“Shiro is a walking inspiration,” a small smile plays on her lips and she couldn’t help but reach down and scratch behind the feline’s ear, “…if you look at the right angle, you’d find treasure trove full of raw ideas between those black and white furs…”

Lotor gives a curious hum, “You know that you have room for one more, don’t you?” he gestures toward his surrounding, “…if it would raise your work efficiently, why don’t you take another one in?”

“My house is not a cat shelter, Lotor…” she snorts, twining her fingers together, “…are you implying something by mentioning this?” 

It’s Lotor after all.

He runs a hand through his –‘perfect’- hair and shrugs nonchalantly, “You know me well, Allura,” Shiro stretches, allowing her fingers to slip down the back of his nape, “…Kollivan knows this more than I thought so I’ll let him handle telling you the rest”

She pulls her fingers away from Shiro before she could grip and pull out of annoyance, “Or you could just tell me right here right now” the rise in tone causes Shiro to flinch and looks up at her with bewildered gaze. Lotor just snorts, “As impatient as usual, huh?” he taps the brown manila envelope, “…still, nope though” he continues easily.

“So what’s the use of you mentioning that to me if you don’t want to part with the whole story in the first place?” the authoress barks.

A guffaw erupts from the young man’s lips, unrestrained peal of laughter echoes across the room, sending Shiro scurrying away to hide beneath one of the cabinets tail slapping frantically against the floor. She’s fuming, true, but to explode once more would mean driving Shiro away from the room and while she couldn’t see him right now, she could at least hear his tail. And that is reassuring in this kind of situation.

To her annoyance, Lotor does not reply her. He just excuses himself, bowing mockingly before snickering when she growls a ‘Don’t come back, asshole!’ right into his face when he raises his head back. The editor just snorts, waves at her without looking back. 

Allura makes sure the next time that man pays her a visit she’d make him beg for her writings.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Kollivan arrives in Friday, asking for the newest short story she promised him last Saturday. 

Shiro is quick to leap into the man’s lap once he’s seated on the couch. A small smile adorns the usually stoic editor as he runs his hand through the bicolored fur gentler than she thought the man is capable of. The Siberian gives out a purr, nuzzling further into the man’s abdomen. 

Allura tries to keep shut about Lotor – a vain effort since she’s born as a curious soul who would stop at nothing until she gains her answer. Her record stands in ten minutes before she relents and asks as Kollivan skims through her script.

“Is there anything that you’re…uh, keeping from me?” she asks as sweetly as she could.

A rustle of paper, “The director of Galra is bed-ridden because he’s gravely ill? I was about to tell you if Lotor hadn’t done so-” here the man pauses before he looks up right at Allura’s face, which she guesses has contorted into one of shocked horror, “…Lotor hadn’t told you then? That child, really, he plays his card too close to his hand” clicking his tongue, Kollivan flicks his gaze back to the script.

“I…what, Lotor didn’t…is this an attempt to confuse me since Lotor did not want to answer my question?” 

Kollivan looks rather amused when she could see his face again, “It’s very much true. Did he imply anything else? I’m going to guess he hadn’t told you that most of the company’s funding had been moved under his name now”

“No, no,” she shakes her head, trying to shake off this line of conversation that she doesn’t really need right now, “…I mean something else. He told me to ask you about Shiro” 

This time, the editor stops skimming and pays full attention. It’s amazing sometimes to know that Kollivan’s priority lies somewhere not near his work – and for a creature with four feet nonetheless! – when the man himself always puts doing his duty first before everything else. Meanwhile, on his lap, Shiro is gazing up, ear twitching as if he knows that his name had been called.

“About Shiro?” he sounds thoughtful, even more so than when he’s checking for errors in her work, “…ah, right, someone from the office had notified me that they saw an exotic cat when they’re walking through the small forest behind our building. It doesn’t seem like anyone owns it, but its fur is patterned in such unique color and motifs, someone could come and fetch it to sell somewhere I would hate to say” 

“And you want me to adopt it?” 

The editor shakes his head before solemnly plops his hand atop Shiro’s head, “I want you to bring Shiro to the cat”

And he looks so serious that she almost thinks that-  
“Wait, you’re…serious…aren’t you?”

“As I can be. It had evaded our hands countless times. I feared that someone might come with the right tools but the wrong intention to stop that record,” he nods, “…Shiro seems quite welcoming and his presence had proven to be positive to both of us, so I assume he might be able to soothe the cat and bring it to you”

Shiro, for his part, is confused. He meows his question and stares up at both of them, feeling their expectancy on him. Kollivan shrugs, returning to the script, “Well, I just thought that maybe you’d love more companions aside from Shiro”

………………………………………………………………………………………………

They find the cat relatively quick, though what happened upon finding it was…not harmless

Physically.

It’s a beautiful mixed breed with mismatched eyes of yellow and purple – something that would make collector goes weak on their knees. That unique feature would only attract unwanted capturer, something that she should be able to prevent if she takes the cat into her household. 

And she told Lotor that her house is not a cat shelter.

But, yes, she’s now hurt quite badly, blood exists somewhere between their first meeting with the cat.

“It…bit me…?” she said in disbelief.

The cat she referred to huff and turned tail, implying that she should leave before he changed his mind. Shiro was staring at the wild cat’s retreating back though, deliberating some choices inside his head after he’s seen how rude the wildcat was being. After a disapproving meow, Shiro jumped down and without hesitation, followed the mixed breed into the deeper part of the forest. Allura swore she’s seen her cat’s plotting.

Without hesitation, she follows, wrapping her bleeding fingers with a clean handkerchief. 

They traverse through the small forest, pushing branches out of her face and slapping her knees occasionally from mosquitoes. Once they reach the clearing, the cat stops and eyes them, distrustful and angry. Shiro, wisely choose to start the conversation between them out of any claw swipe range. Feeling useless in a talk between two cats, Allura just stays behind, patiently waiting for Shiro to finish whatever he talks about.

The cat is extremely hostile at first, tails flicking back and forth with its fur raised into tiny pinprick needles. As they converse, she notices it slowly relaxes. Its tail stops flicking and instead relaxes into a lazy curve, pointing toward the sky. Then it closes in on Shiro in seconds. It gives him a sniff, eyes narrowed when it sees the metal leg, though soon meows what she suspects as an agreement. 

Then a pair of heterochromatic eyes is staring at her.

She’s surprised by the sudden eye contact, that she couldn’t help the small squeal from her lips. They are both the brightest hue of violet and yellow that she’s ever seen. Considering that cat’s eyes could light up in the dark –if you see them through the camera- its eyes would probably the most beautiful things to take a picture of. She doesn’t know how long they stare at one another like that, baby blue against yellow and purple. But when it scoffs and turns back to Shiro, she blinks owlishly as if she’s just been woken from a trance.

Is…

“Was that a test?” she tries asking. As stupid as it sounds to ask verbally to a cat, she does search for Shiro’s gaze for an answer. Her Siberian makes an agreeing noise before he gets back to the exotic cat. 

An hour later, Kollivan coughs to his fist when he sees two cats trailing behind Allura without leashes.

……………………………………………………………………………………………..

“What is his name going to be?”

“Keith”

“That was fast even for you, Lady Allura”

“Keith because Shiro is going to **keep** him whether I like it or not”

“I’m afraid to ask, but why Keith?”

“We’re ‘ **keep** ’-ing him”

“……………..”

“……………..”

“I’ll get back to you with dinner”

“Please do…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keep - Keif - Keith
> 
> same difference

**Author's Note:**

> That's it for now~


End file.
